Indelible
by the drowsy poet
Summary: Somewhere along the line, Sirius Black has begun to scribble in the margins of Remus' life. AUish. RemusSirius pre-slash. /For Ralinde on her birthday.


**A/N:** KAPOW. We finally have something of a DECENT LENGTH. WUT. This whole fic is dedicated to the lovely Ralinde on her birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR. I hope this is to your liking. I have initiated quite a few of the prompts into it, so that should be alright.

Some notes before we begin: - This is AUish. It's still normal Remus and Sirius, and it's still Hogwarts - but this is a Hogwarts where Remus didn't become friends with the Marauders. Lyk omg. ALLONS-Y.

* * *

It's not until they're partnered up in some Muggle Studies lesson that Remus really _notices_ him. Of course they've always been there - lounging at the backs of classrooms with their feet up and their heads in the clouds - they're the Marauders, aren't they? Not a care in the world.

And that's it, in his opinion. They don't bother him - he won't bother them. There's also the slight fact that he's Remus Lupin and he's just books to the standard onlooker - books and ink stains and quiet nods in response to their questions.

(And really, the closest he has ever come to even mentioning them is when consoling a James-addled Lily - stating that "they love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting." It's true, too. They really love their hair.)

But starting the first lesson back - even though they're in _sixth year_ now and they've managed completely fine by themselves up until this point - Professor Elvidge installs a seating arrangement, and the world explodes.

"Sirius Black with Remus Lupin."

The former boy's grin is astounding compared to that of his partner's.

He saunters over to the desk they have been allotted, and it's with the air of a boy that thinks far too highly of himself for the wolf to bear. He smells like alcohol and cigarette ash and burnt toast. Remus thinks he might as well just give up now.

"Howdy, pardner," the boy drawls in what he thinks must be something of a Texan accent. Remus stares pointedly ahead, and sets his jaw into a grimace.

Sirius' grin doesn't flicker.

* * *

"You know, I just don't _get_ this Holmes bloke."

They're working on Muggle literature, and personally, it's Remus' favourite topic. He's rather tempted to simply ignore the boy by his side but he's so perplexed as to why someone _"can not get"_ Sherlock Holmes that it is impossible not to retaliate.

"What on _earth_ is there not to get about Sherlock Holmes?"

He tries to ensure that his tone stays even and cold, but if it works then Sirius doesn't react. In fact, his smile seems to grow.

"He's asexual, right?" Sirius asks, and seeing Remus' small nod of affirmation, he continues. "Right. Asexual, or at least that's what he claims. But then you've got Watson, see?"

"..._Yes_."

Remus does not like where this is going.

"Okay. So really my problem is that this Sherlock fellow can hardly make out that he's all 'asexual' with him going 'round flirting outrageously with Watson."

He does not like where this is going at _all._

"And _how_ exactly would he be doing _that_?"

"Oh, come on, mate. Creepy recluse of a man who doesn't ever let anyone in meets lonely army doctor and they immediately buy a flat together? And don't even _get me started_ on the pet names."

"The_ pet names?"_

"'Elementary, my dear?' What straight bloke in their right mind would call someone '_dear_?'"

Remus exhales a long breath. He counts to ten in his head. He grinds his teeth so hard into one another that he's almost certainly in danger of corroding them right away.

"You alright, mate?" Sirius begins - but he stops himself when he spots the steadily increasing shade of crimson creeping into Remus' cheeks. Even _he_ knows when enough is enough.

He settles for doodling a picture of the detective upon a scrap of parchment - and it's with the greatest will power that he relents from shading the deerstalker in all the colours of the rainbow.

* * *

"Remus?"

It's Frank.

"Mhm?" He responds, looking slowly up from his Transfiguration essay. "I, uh, I think this is for you." The boy is holding up a crudely wrapped rectangular parcel, and Remus frowns.

"Oh. Um, okay. Does it say who it's from?"

"No... It just says 'For Remus, my dear,' ...then, um: 'sorry for being a twat.'"

Frank stares at Remus, but the boy is looking very determinedly towards his unfinished essay.

"Oh."

He takes the parcel. The handwriting on the label is etched in a messy scrawl that he doesn't recognise, the ink in his name smudged from the graze of a stray palm or elbow. He opens it - carefully, making sure not to rip the paper - and inside is a bar of Honeydukes' finest dark chocolate.

It's not quite an apology worthy of Conan Doyle - but, Remus thinks - it's enough.

* * *

At some point between periods of light aggravation and near manslaughter - Remus begins to secretly look forward to his partner's witty commentary upon their learning. When he's not insulting classic literature or shaming previous members of royalty with his mangled tongue, it can even be entertaining, the boy finds.

He keeps this fact entirely to himself.

Their two-lessons-a-week flit by quicker than Remus would like to admit. His faux nonchalance towards Sirius' jokes grows weaker and weaker, until one day he can't stop himself and barks out a laugh, and Professor Elvidge actually turns around from the blackboard to enquire as to what is wrong with her star pupil.

"Oh, um. Nothing, ma'am."

Sirius giggles. It is awfully girly. Remus kicks him from underneath the desk, and in hindsight maybe the touch should have been some semblance of a warning - but he is gloriously oblivious and so is everyone else, and the innocent gesture turns out to be just that: _innocent_.

He leaves the lesson smiling. When Lily asks him why he tells her that _it's just a very nice day, thanks_. He runs a thumb over the chocolate wrapper in his pocket, but the contents are long vanished.

His smile stays put for the remainder of the day.

* * *

The Egyptians, the sixth year Muggle Studies Class discover, were _painfully_ dull.

Sirius nudges Remus with his foot, and groans. The boy shushes him, so Sirius does it again. Remus kicks him in the shin, but really he's grateful for the distraction.

The Egyptians were really, _really_ dull.

(Though - his inner voice argues - they did like cats. And cats are pretty cool animals. Except the hairless ones with the baggy skin. Those ones are creepy.)

He sucks on the end of his quill, thinking. He wonders whether his own cat, Atticus, would have liked to be mummified. Probably not.

Sirius kicks him again but this time it is by accident.

The darker haired boy is rummaging around in his bag, and a few seconds later he withdraws a crumpled scrap of parchment. He grins to himself, and picks up a quill. A brief pause, then -

_u going to hogsmeade? **- s**_

Remus huffs, (good naturedly - one might add) and scrawls a quick - _why?_

_do i need a reason to ask an attractive gentleman out 4 butterbeer? **-s**_

The wolf shakes his head in what he hopes looks like exasperation, but he scratches a response nevertheless.

_One might speculate your morals, Mr. Black. And no. I'm going to read up on the Greeks, we have a test next lesson._

_u r the quintessential swot, remus, - _he writes, then, as an afterthought_ - __and it wasn't actually a question u have to come **-s**_

_I think it's astounding how you took the time to write 'quintessential' and not 'you.'_

_priorities. -**s**_

Remus bites his tongue to suppress a snort, but all he ends up doing is choking on it, and there's a brief period of time where he tries to swallow but instead his eyes decide to pop out of his skull, and Sirius beside him is attempting to relent from wetting himself.

_"_Attractive," the latter says out loud.

"Flattery equals Hogsmeade," Remus whispers back, and Sirius tells him with an astounding reverence that _he better be bloody serious because I'm going to hold you to that one. _

Remus ignores him, and continues to chew the tip of his quill. There is a moment of calm before the parchment is back, and -

_i wasn't kidding about that. -s_

_you make chewing a quill look positively dirty. -s_

_not that i was watching you. -s_

_chew your quill, i mean. -s_

_it's not like i care what you do with your mouth, it's none of _my_ business. -s_

_i think i should stop now. -s_

Remus nods. His mouth is aching.

From two desks across, James watches the two boys with a strange look on his face. And, at the end of the lesson, when Remus slips the parchment into the pocket of his robes - he is the only one that notices.

* * *

It is breakfast time the following Saturday. There are chipolatas. Remus likes chipolatas. He props up his book and plans the rest of his day as he eats - he might go to the Library, start that essay from Binns. He'll see what Frank is up to. He likes Frank. These chipolatas really are rather good.

Remus is in a worryingly cheerful mood.

"_LUPIN._"

The chipolata falls off his fork.

Sirius Black hurtles through the gangway and sits down next to him - if 'sit' was the most accurate verb to describe it. He doesn't notice the boy's despair.

"Remus, my dear."

The sausage remains sat on his plate, staring up at him.

"...I assume you weren't joking about Hogsmeade, then."

"I don't joke about anything."

They look at each other, and Remus thinks of foot wars and Sherlock Holmes and parchment with scribbles filling the margins.

"I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" He replies after a while, and he makes a big show about getting up and he lets out a large sigh, but he's happy, and even the dejected chipolata on his plate can't do anything to dampen his mood. Sirius flutters his eyelashes.

"You know me _far_ too well, darling," comes the instant reply, but he's wrong. Remus is loathe to admit that he _doesn't. _He_ doesn't _know Sirius, not _that_ much, not even at all.

And it is neither the beginning nor the end, but it's_ here_ and it's _happening,_ and that's all that really matters; because somewhere along the line Sirius Black started scribbling in the margins of Remus Lupin's life - and ink, Remus has found, is _gloriously_ indelible.

* * *

**A/N**: Prompts successfully included: "elementary, my dear," "cat," "neither the beginning nor the end," "chocolate," "touch," and - for the Epic John Green Quote Challenge - "They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting."

*high fives self*

[IF ANYONE WOULD LIKE TO TAKE PART IN MY EXTREMELY IMPORTANT POLL IT WOULD BE APPRECIATED.]


End file.
